The Storm
by XxBurning RosexX
Summary: It is the year of the 58th Hunger Games, and Blaine Anderson of District 4 has been chosen to be a tribute. It will not be easy, no one has ever said it would be easy. But he might find someone that he will fight for. Hunger Games AU. Eventual Klaine.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**The Reaping**

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or The Hunger Games

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><p>On this day, in every district, a wave of dread washes over the people. It's a myth that, in the career districts, this day is eagerly awaited. How could the families of the children be glad to see them fight? How would anybody ever think that? I debate on whether or not I should get out of bed. The worse I'll suffer is a whipping. I'd rather be whipped than be a tribute in these games. I haven't been trained as much as the other boys. I am not prepared enough and I have never shown any interest, and my school has never shown any interest in me.<p>

I am wakened by my older brother, who has stayed home today instead of going to work.

He is easily six feet tall, and handsome. He is 23 now, so he is safe from the fate that awaits the rest of us. Cooper works for my father, who works for our mayor. This means that I have never had to apply for grain and oil, so my name has only ever been in the reaping bowl the amount of times needed.

"Come on, Blaine," Cooper says, handing me a piece of bread for breakfast. "You're eighteen now. The chances of your name being picked are highly unlikely."

I manage a smile, but I'm sure it comes out like a grimace. "Sure, Coop."

Our last victor won the games two years ago. Mike Chang was only 17 when he had won. He was a quiet boy, and no one thought that he'd survive the first five days. But he turned out to be a fast runner and a killer when he had to be.

The thought of silent, shy Mike having a killer side to him ran shivers down my spine. These games unleash sides of us that we would never like to admit.

After breakfast, I go down to the docks to see my father. He is there with my friend Wes' father. They seem to be having a good day, as their nets are full of fat, oily fish that my mother would cook into a rich pie at the end of the day.

How ironic is it, that my father and his friend are having a good day, whereas Wes and I will stand in the town square, begging to whoever is out for our name not to be called out? Wes' father suggests that I go to their house, and I bring a bucket of fish with me. On my way, I see a girl from my class, Tina, sitting on her windowsill. She waves to me, but I can see the tears forming tracks on her cheeks. She is eighteen, like me, and she is the best at spear fishing in our village. When our families get together, her father always says that it's a shame women shouldn't be working and looks pointedly at her. This poor girl shrinks under her father's gaze all the time, I wonder what'll happen if she is ever reaped.

I push the thought from my mind as I search for Wes' house among the rest of the identical blue houses that line the road.

"Blaine!" shouts a young girl from across the road, and it turns out to be one of Wes' sisters. She is only eleven, but this day is as dreaded to her as it is to the rest of the children.

"Hi, Rachel," I say as she carefully crosses the road to me. Her caramel hair is pulled back into pigtails and her sharp black eyes pierce mine. I know that she knows what I'm thinking, but she makes conversation anyway.

She reminds me that her house isn't on this street, but almost half a mile away. She chuckles at my lack for sense of direction, and it almost makes me forget that I could be given my death sentence later. She takes one of the bucket's handles and walks with me. She tells me about school, and occasionally sings lines from her favourite songs. She has a clear voice, and sometimes I sing along with the songs I recognize.

Before I know it, I'm at Wes' door and Rachel is pulling out a set of keys. "Mummy says I'm old enough to carry these now." She tells me proudly. I nod back at her, pulling at one of her pigtails.

She squirms away from me, giggling as the lock clicks into place. "WES!" she yells when she gets through the door. "Blaine's here!"

I drop the bucket by the front door and wait until Wes comes to the door. He claps me on the back, and picks up the bucket.

"I'll see you later, eh Blaine?" He asks, his dark eyes scared.

"If we don't want a lashing, yeah," I say back.

"Good luck, by the way," he says just above a whisper. "For later."

"And may the odds be _ever _in your favor!" I say back, in a pathetic attempt of a joking voice. I try to ignore the break in my voice half way through the sentence. I amble back home, trying to think of anything but the reaping. I even whistle a few melodies along the way.

When I finally get home, my mother's arms surround me. I pat her back and I sink into her embrace. She is warm and homely and, thank _god_, not crying. When she finally pulls away from me, she smoothes down my hair and tugs on my shirt.

"Let's get you changed, okay baby? Then we'll figure out what to do with your hair." She says and my hands fly subconsciously to my head. My mother guides my hands away from my hair and places my brother's old shirt into my arms.

"Go," she says. "Get changed and wash your hands. It's almost time."

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><p>I clutch my mother's hand until we reach the square. There, she lets my hand go and hugs me. She isn't crying, though. My mother has so much faith in everything. So do my father and brother.<p>

Maybe that's why I long to be like them.

I find Wes in the crowd of eighteen year olds at the front. I spot my family by the side, trying to smile in encouragement. But nobody smiles at the reaping.

I spot Mike sitting on a chair on the stage. He is wearing a sea-green suit and he looks grim. He must remember what it's like to be standing in the square, terrified for your life.

"Hello, Hello," says Emma Pillsbury, our escort, as she leaps from her chair. This year, her ginger hair is twisted into a bun and she is has ridiculous yellow bows on her shirt and a pea green skirt. For the last five years, Wes' older sister Clary and I have always made fun of Emma's outfits. This year would be no exception. I try to find Clary in the crowd and I can see that she is trying not to snicker.

She delivers her speech in a soft, voice. She tries to smile, but her comically large eyes betray her fear for us. But I don't understand why she would care. We are just pieces in the Capitol's games. We are nothing.

She walks to the girls' reaping bowl and rummages through the slips of paper. She picks one out, and walks back to the center of the stage. She unfolds the piece of paper and reads the name out clearly:

"Tina Cohen-Chang."

Everyone looks over to the trembling girl as she makes her way up to the stage. She isn't crying though. She's stronger than she looks.

Emma asks whether anyone would want to take Tina's place but nobody volunteers.

I am outraged.

"And now, the boys," Emma says and she trots on her ridiculous heals to the boys' bowl. I am so filled with anger that I don't hear the name being called out for the boy tribute until I feel hundreds of eyes on me.

It was my name that was called out.

I am District 4's male tribute.

I walk up the stairs to the platform, still in a sleep-like haze. I look at Tina, who has her head held high and proud. I'm sure I look a mess, but I don't care. I'm going to die.

Once again, Emma asks whether anyone would want to take my place. In some insane part of my mind, I think that someone will take my place. We are a Career district. Even if we dread this day, they wouldn't want me to disgrace the rest of them.

But nobody volunteers.

I am more shocked than outraged.

Maybe they want me dead.

I gasp at the thought, and Tina looks sharply to me. Her eyes ask: _are you all right?_ But I'm not. I feel nauseated and sick. I know I'm different. I'm probably the only eighteen year old that hasn't shown any interest in girls or getting married. Is that why they want me to die? Because they think I like boys instead of girls? Does their hatred of me overshadow their hatred for the capitol?

So many questions run through my head that I hardly notice Emma announcing us as tributes and the applause is just a dull buzz in my ears. But I do hear her announce: "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

It almost makes me laugh. But before I can gather myself and find my family in the crowd I am whisked away by heavily armed guards into the Town Hall. I don't even get the chance to talk to Tina before we are put in separate rooms.

My family visits me first. My mother is trying not to cry. She clutches at my shirt. My father stands behind her, still as stone. He reaches his strong hand out to me and I make to grasp it, but he pulls me into a hug. My brother joins me, and I am soon enveloped in my family's arms. My father pressed a strange, silver cuff to my wrist. I notice that it was my grandfathers. It is made of a silvery metal, and has a cream pearl in the centre.

"It's your token, Blaine." He says. "We want you to have it. Have a piece of us in that arena. Come back to us safe, will you? Come back to us alive."

I nod, words catching in my throat. I don't know what to say.

My family is soon escorted from the room and Wes' family enter. They don't say much, and we just exchange hugs and farewells.

Wes tries not to cry. I realize with a start that I have never seen him cry before. Rachel nearly topples me with her hug and soon enough we're both crying. I don't cry loudly, and I never have, so the tears stream silently down my face when I have to say goodbye to them. Clary is the last one to let me go and in my ear she whispers: "I'm betting on you, Blaine."

I am ashamed that I didn't show the same compassion towards my own family. But in the last glimpses of them I shout: "I love you!" but a hand soon appears around my mouth and I am silenced. The guard says that he hopes Emma will drill some manners into me before we reach the capitol.

I hope we never reach there at all.

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><p>The first time I see Tina is when we are rushed onto the train. She has a small necklace on, one I haven't seen her wear before. It has a small shell woven in with seaweed-green rope. It must be her token. She notices me staring at it and her hand rises instinctively to it. I try to smile and I mouth: 'it's very nice'. She smiles back a 'thank you'.<p>

"Come on, come on." Rushes Emma. "We'll be there in a day. Better get you two all rested!" Her voice is too chirpy, too happy for the occasion. One day until the capitol, one week until slaughter.

"Come on now, Blaine!" She says, and I realize that I have spoken aloud. "It's an honour to be in these games!"

I see Tina roll her eyes behind Emma, but I nod politely at her. She sounds so exasperated. I can't have annoyed her already! "I'm sorry," I say, and that immediately makes her brighten up. "It's all right," she replies, patting me on the shoulder. "It's a hectic time for all of us."

"Your rooms are down this corridor, I'm sure you'll find them!" You'll be called down for dinner later," Emma says, and she walks quickly off, probably to sanitize her hands.

"Umm…" Tina starts awkwardly, but I lay a hand on her arm. "Hey. It's all right. We don't have to make conversation if you don't want to." I say. She looks at me curiously and says: "You're so polite, you know? I bet you'll last much longer in that arena than me." Tina sniffs, and I so desperately want to comfort her.

"Maybe that's why we'll be allies, then." I say, shocking even myself.

"Making allies already?" Tina jokes lightly. "We've got a week to go, you know?"

I smile sheepishly at her. It's awkward, standing in the middle of the corridor, but somehow, it doesn't feel like it. We walk down to our rooms together, and I wonder aloud why we haven't seen Mike since the reaping.

"We'll see him later, I suppose." Tina says. "During dinner. He's bound to be there." She blushes suddenly, spots of pink high on her cheekbones. "I do hope he's still wearing that suit. He looked dashing, don't you think?"

I must be looking at her strangely, because she places her hands on my arm, shaking her had affectionately.

"Oh, Blaine. I don't judge you. I'm not even sure if there's anything to judge! You offered to be my ally, and that's more than anyone has ever done for me. And we're in these damned games too!" She adds, her voice a whisper.

I smile at her, a real smile this time, and she yawns widely. "I'm awfully tired. I think I'll go to sleep until Emma comes in to yell at me, eh?"

I laugh slightly. "I really hope they serve anything that _isn't_ fish!" I say, and we both collapse in a fit of giggles. _It's strange_, I think, _that we could be such good friends if we weren't going to end up dead._

The thought hits me like a punch in the gut, and I straighten up immediately. Tina looks at me oddly, but lets it slide.

"I'll see you later, Blaine." She says and she closes her door.

I sigh quietly. This was a lot harder than I thought.

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><p>AN: Thank you for reading! Please Review!

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**The Filler**

A/N: Thank you so much for the response to this story!

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games

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><p>The room they have assigned me is very different from my room at home. While my old room was still clean and not at all small, this cabin is still larger than the upper floor of my family's house.<p>

My house in District 4 is whitewashed and clean. My mother has made a particular effort to make the house welcoming and beautiful. Its walls are lined with shells that we collect from the beaches and everything is polished and homely. This cabin is modern and smells faintly of metal. It has a large bed on one side, covered in fluffy pillows and thick duvets, and there are drawers and cupboards and a door that probably leads to a bathroom. I look into one of the cupboards and find a few dressing gowns and shirts. I take pick a soft cotton shirt and change into it for sleep. I twist off the cuff on my wrist and place it on the dresser.

I climb into the bed and collapse immediately into the pillows. It is warm and comfortable and soon enough, I'm asleep.

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><p>"Wake up! Wake up! Lots to do, lots to do!" trills Emma as she raps on my door. I groan at the sound. I'm still sleepy. Today's events must have tired me out more than I think.<p>

I notice that Emma is holding a turquoise shirt and a pair on sturdy looking grey trousers. She sets them on the dresser next to the bed and says: "These were sent from your stylist. Change into them and meet Tina in the corridor. Someone will be there to escort you two to the dining hall." I nod at her, grateful for the change of clothes. She stutters nervously for a second, blinking frantically. Then she turns to walk out the door, and pulls off a pair of plastic gloves that hadn't noticed and throws them into the bin by the door.

I sit on the bed for a few minutes, blinking the sleep from my eyes. I rummage through some drawers until I find a fresh pair of underclothes and I change into them. I pull on the trousers, and I'm glad to find that they are comfortable. I pick up the shirt next, and I run my hands down it. It's made out of silk, but feels like water. There are little silver buttons down the middle that match my token. I wonder if my stylist was told what my token was.

I roll the sleeves up to my elbows and twist my cuff back on. I slip my feet into a pair of slippers that I find in the cupboard and make my way out into the corridor.

I knock lightly on Tina's door, and I hear a muffled "I'm coming!" She opens the door, and sighs in relief when she sees me.

"I thought it was Emma again." She says. "She nearly had a heart attack when she saw the clothes on the floor!" I laugh lightly, remembering the gloves. I step back, letting Tina exit her room. Her dress is the same turquoise as mine. It is simple, but breathtaking on her.

"It's beautiful, Tina," I say. She grins back, saying: "Oh, I _know_. I wonder who our stylist is. He must be really talented. Effie says he's really young too…" Really young? Does that mean he's had surgery to make himself look young? Like what Emma did to her eyes?

The guard comes up to us and interrupts my thoughts. He says that he's come to take up to the dining hall, and Tina and I follow him. We don't dare to say anything, too intimidated and scared at saying something wrong.

The dining hall is only a few corridors down, and we see Emma sitting at the table, talking to Mike. She has a fresh pair of gloves on, and is poking and prodding at the flower centrepiece.

Mike Chang is as handsome in real life as he is on television. He has short, black hair and dark green eyes. You can tell by his eyes that he's from the coast. I shoot a glance at Tina, and I see the flicks of green in her dark eyes. She must have relatives from the coast too, then. My eyes are like my mother's, bright and hazel, unlike the beautiful sea greens and blues of the rest of the district.

Mike rises from his chair and holds a hand out for me to shake. I do, and I smile politely. "It's an honour to meet you, Mr Chang." I say.

"Oh, please. Call me Mike." He says, and he turns to Tina. "You must be Miss Cohen-Chang. My mother used to go to school with yours." Tina blushes softly, and shakes his hand. I observe the exchange quietly. Something akin to jealousy rolls low in my stomach. I've never had a sweetheart, never had a girlfriend. Or boyfriend.

"Come, come! Sit down, children! Sit down!" Emma says from her place at the table. She is scrubbing furiously at the glass vase that holds some flowers.

"Would you like some help?" I ask but she declines.

"No thank you, Blaine. I need to do this myself." She says, and I shrug and sit down.

When we are all seated, Emma calls for service, and a man and a woman come out of what I would presume to be the kitchen. They lay platter after platter on the long table, and exotic scents waft from the food they lay down. I thank them, but they don't reply. I look to Tina, like she would have the explanation, but she shrugs.

"They can't speak, Blaine." Emma informs me. "Don't try to make conversation. They will follow whatever orders you give them, but they cannot talk."

"What if I don't want to order them around?" I ask, but Emma just shakes her head at me.

"Eat your food, Blaine."

I transfer my attention to the food on the table, and my hunger makes reappearance. They have silver platters laden with meats and rolls of bread. I pick up a seed-speckled roll of bread and dip it into a brown sauce. The roll tastes of herbs and seeds, and the sauce is thick and tastes of beef. I had only ever had beef twice before, so I have plateful after plateful.

Mike urges me to try everything that I can, like sticky rice with a salmon sauce; white, spicy sauce with chicken; salty pork with orange eggs and buttery toast. When dessert arrives I'm already full, but I still eat as much as I can. I have glasses of cranberry jelly and a rich, sweet dessert that has cream, chocolate and white fruits in it.

Emma makes frequent comments on how I'm eating too much, or how she's glad I know how to use a knife and fork. _Just because I'm not from the Capitol_, I think, _it doesn't mean that I'm an _animal_!_

After the meal, Mike says that he's going to show Tina around the train. He just laughs at Emma's disapproving gaze, and guides Tina out of the room. It's only me and Emma left, so I attempt to make conversation.

"Could you tell me anything about our stylist, Emma?" I ask. "Oh, he's a phenomenal talent. He's very young too. He moved to the Capitol when he was still a child, but that's all anybody knows about him." Emma says. "You could mistake him for a Four Citizen with eyes like his…"

I nod a thank you to Emma and she tells me to get to sleep. ("_Big day, tomorrow!_") I try to find my way to my cabin, but I was never good with directions. Eventually, I find my door, and I change out of my clothes into the shirt I was wearing earlier. All the food has made me sleepy, so I fall into a dreamless sleep.

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><p>"Wake up! Get changed! We're on a schedule!" Emma says from behind my door and I hear her say the same to Tina. I sit up slowly, and I look out the window. I recognise the outskirts of District One from when we have to watch the news on television. It strikes me that we're almost at the Capitol, and I lurch away from the window, hand pressed over my mouth. I can't believe that I'd forgotten. But it's still a week until the Games. I still have time to train and learn. I repeat this in my head until I calm down.<p>

There's a note attached to a set of clothes on my dresser. It says, in Emma's neat hand writing: _Take a shower before you come to breakfast._

I curl my lip slightly, but I take a shower anyway. There a countless knobs and buttons lining the shower wall, but I choose a small purple button labelled 'fruits', and a thick steam rains down on me. It smells like cherries and grapes and I feel like I could spend _days_ just soaking it up. I sing a few songs loudly as I wash my hair, taking advantage of the sound-proofed bathrooms.

I step out of the shower, my skin soft and raw, and I wrap a towel around my waist. I find another towel and I dry my hair. I look into the mirror and I groan in annoyance because, oh God, my _hair_! It's sticking out in all directions and jeez, I need a haircut. I rummage through the shelves until I find a little pot of product the consistency of gel. I comb it through my hair until it's presentable, and I exit the bathroom.

The clothes Emma (or my stylist) has laid out for me are simple; a white shirt, a blue and red jacket and grey trousers. They look like a uniform, but I'm not complaining. They're comfortable and soft and the trousers aren't too long or too short (but they _are_ a little tight). There is also a pair of shoes next to the door, but I don't have any time to look for socks, so I just slip them on.

I try to retrace my steps back to the dining room, but I still get lost. One of the servants from last night finds me and guides me to the room. I thank her, and she tries to smile. I dread to think that nobody has ever thanked her before.

_Screw what Emma thinks_, I think. _They're still human._

I'm the last one to arrive to breakfast, but they all greet me with smiles. _It's strange_, I think as I sit down, _that they are acting so friendly to me when me or Tina might die in these games_.

The servant that showed me to my room lays a plate in front of me. It is laden with toasted bread and fruits and eggs and sauces. But despite my hunger, I can't bring myself to eat it all. There's a sick feeling in my stomach, so I just take sips of juice.

Mike seems to notice my discomfort and strikes up a conversation about music. Tina and I have both sung in school assemblies before, and Emma suggests that we use our talents to win sponsors.

"Always good to win sponsors early in the games," Emma says seriously. "It's almost as effective as reciting a love story during the interviews."

"A love story? How would love win sponsors?" I ask. Emma gasps at me, but I think she's reacting far too seriously. "Sponsors want tributes to survive if they have a purpose," She explains. "If you last until the last 8, they will interview your sweetheart back in District 4."

"Unrequited love works best," Mike says and I scoff. "I won't have any problem with that then."

Tina looks at me curiously, as if asking: _really?_ I think I should be flattered, in an odd way, but I can't bring myself to be.

"Can you at least act it?" Emma asks, and my eyebrows rise in surprise. _I_ could act it, sure. But who would act with me? I realise that Emma wants an answer and I tell her no. "It'll be hard," I say. "Hopefully I'll find myself someone to fight for, though."

Emma smiles a sad sort of smile. "All right," She says. "At least you can sing."

There's another bout of uncomfortable silence until a voice over the intercom says that we are nearly approaching the Capitol. Me and Tina both rush to the window, and we see the tall, metallic buildings glimmering in the harsh sun. Residents of the Capitol have rushed out to the streets to see our train arrive. They're whooping and clapping, like we're famous. I find myself smiling down at them, and Tina is waving. This just excites them further, and more people crowd out into the streets. We have a few more seconds of this until the train whizzes into the station.

A pair of guards step into the train to take up to our quarters in the training building. Mike points out the other Mentors when we catch glimpses of them when we're in the lift. We see Sue Sylvester, notorious winner of District 1, who won by figuring out the other tributes' weaknesses and using them against them. She glares at us as we walk past, and I gulp loudly.

Mike grimaces at me and tells me that we'll see more of her later. _Probably with her tributes, too,_ I think. _I wonder how they're going to try and kill me_.

But thoughts like that don't exactly scream "positive thinking", so I focus on my surroundings instead. We are being led down to a pair of large, glass doors. We enter the elevator in silence, and the only sounds are the sounds the elevator makes as we travel downwards.

"We'll give you half an hour to get accustomed to your rooms," Emma informs us as we're guided down to our rooms. "Then come to the room at the end of the corridor. We'll discuss strategies and you'll meet your prep team. Okay? Okay."

We are ushered quickly into our new rooms and the door is shut behind me with a snap. I gaze around the large room, not unlike the one on the train. There was a strange hole in the wall that had a small card reading: _Say the food that you want, and it'll appear!_

I think the exclamation mark is quite unnecessary.

I amble around the room for 15 minutes before I decide to take a walk outside. I try to avoid anyone walking around. I turn a corner and…

"Excuse me? Um… It's my first time here. I don't know where to go…" a beautiful voice says from behind me. I turn slowly and I don't quite know if I'm dreaming or not. I hold my hand out instinctively. It seems like I can't wait to get a hold of this beautiful boy.

"I'm Blaine. Blaine Anderson," I say, and a flicker of recognition lights behind his kaleidoscope eyes.

"Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

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><p>AN: So there it is! This chapter was just the transition from District 4 to the Capitol, so that's why it's a little bit rushed. But I hope the ending makes up for it!

I'll try to update once a week, but reviews _do_ mean faster updates!

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	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Opening Ceremony**

****A/N: And I don't mean the brand. There are a few rated T words in this chapter, and the language is slightly less serious.

Also, thank you so much for the response!

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games

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><p>"Oh, hi," I say lamely and I mentally smack myself. <em>Nice going, Blaine<em>, I say to myself. But Kurt just smiles a shy smile. "Well, I'm looking for District 4's meeting room. Do you know where it is?" He asks.

"Yeah, it's right down there. I'm on my way there too, actually," I say, and I'm proud that I didn't stutter or tell him how beautiful he is.

"Great!" he says and gestures for me to lead the way. He walks next to me as we walk to the door, so I sneak glances whenever I can. Kurt doesn't look much older than I am, so I wonder who he is. He's a Capitol resident, made obvious by his clothes. But they aren't _nearly_ as outlandish as any of the other outfits that I've seen from the train. He hasn't got any obvious surgical alterations, but nobody can possibly be that… _Perfect_.

He catches me staring and blushes to the tips of his ears. I smile, and I nearly run into the door.

He laughs lightly, and it's my turn to blush. But I'm saved from embarrassment when Emma bursts through the door and starts shrieking.

Kurt, who seems to already know Emma, tries to console her. He grips her by the shoulders but the slips from his grasp and runs down the corridor. "Emma!" A voice shouts from behind us, and it's a man I've never seen before. I wonder if he's part of the prep team, but judging by the state of his hair, I don't think he is. He runs after Emma and disappears from our view.

Kurt rolls his eyes, annoyed. "That's Will Schuester. He's the mentor for District 8. God only know how he won but," Kurt looks back down the corridor, "He'd better stay away from Emma before she has another breakdown."

"Another breakdown?" I ask, but he just shakes his head. I make a mental note to ask Mike later.

We enter the room, and we find Mike sitting at the table, reading a book. He looks up and brightens. "I was starting to think you'd never show up!" He says. He extends a hand towards Kurt, and I realise that they had never met.

They shake hands, and Mike turns to me. "It's quite unusual for a tribute to meet his stylist before the prep team is done with him." He says, and I turn so quickly to Kurt that I fear I might get whiplash.

"You're my stylist?" I ask disbelief evident in my voice. "But you can't be much older than I am!" Kurt laughs nervously. "Well…" He starts, but Mike finishes for him.

"He's one of the best stylists the Capitol has ever seen! And you're right, Blaine. He's only my age, and he's already at the top of his game: styling for a career District!" My eyebrows rise, but I'm incredibly impressed. But one thing _does_ bother me, though. The way Mike is talking. It's as if he too thinks the games are for fun, even though he took parting them. He must know the horror everyone goes through! Does Kurt know, though…?

"Anyway! Tina's been whisked off already, so you'd better follow suit. Emma was going to bring you but," Mike rolls his eyes, "Will scared her off. Again."

"I'll bring him," Kurt offers, and I can't help but brighten at the notion. "I've been to the prep room before. Just before I got lost, actually."

"Okay," Mike agrees. "But watch out for the other Districts. That Smythe guy's particularly vicious this year." Kurt smirks, as if the suggestion of being intimidated by 'this Smythe guy' offends him.

"Please," he says with a scoff. "If he had two brain cells in him, he'd _know_ not to cross me."

I don't know whether to be impressed of terrified.

* * *

><p>The walk to the prep room takes shorter than expected, and I try to hide my disappointment.<p>

"I'll check up on you in half an hour," Kurt says. "Tell them I said not to do a _thing_ with your air." And with that, he's sauntering off, and I tear my eyes away.

As I enter the prep room, the smell of cleaning products overwhelms me. Before my eyes can adjust to the lighting, or when I stop sneezing, my prep team descends upon me. They're like a school of colourful fish. They introduce themselves as Tabatia, Lona and Dyran. They are all female, but that doesn't mean I'm more comfortable taking my clothes off in front of them than I am in front of boys.

They giggle lightly as I do so, and that doesn't help my nerves. "What next?" I ask, but Tabatia just shakes her head, blue ringlets bouncing. "Oh! Nothing much… Kurt said not to style your hair, so we're going for the whole polish, all right?"

Before I can even ask what a full polish _is_, I am pushed into a glass cubicle that immediately fills with steam. I stand there, unsure of what to do, until I feel something rotating against my back. I jump, but I hear Lona tell me to keep still. It's unusual, but I start to relax as the rotating sponge erases all the rope burn scars from my fingers, the scars around my knees and the bruises along my feet.

Lona's voice pipes up again, this time telling me to close my eyes. I do, just in time, and another sponge (this time it's a small, hard, grainy one) rubs at my face. It's uncomfortable, but when my hand reaches up to touch my face I find it to be soft and smooth.

The gel I used is washed from my hair in one wave of water and dried in an instant. The doors to the cubicle open and I walk out. I expect my prep team to be there, but they are all crowding around another woman.

She turns to me, and the corners of her lips rise slightly. Her dark skin glimmers softly, as if she has been dowsed with gold glitter. It's tasteful, unlike Dyran's dyed blue skin. She walks over with a robe and drapes it around me. "My name is Mercedes," She says, and I nod. _But I thought Kurt was my stylist_, I think, but I don't want Mercedes to think that I'm being rude.

"Kurt will be here in a moment. He's just checking up on the outfits for later." She squeals in excitement. "Oh! They're absolutely beautiful. I can't _wait_ for you to see them!"

I can't help but be excited. If there was _one_ part of the games that I didn't mind watching was the opening ceremony, if only to look at the outfits that the stylists put together.

I'm about to ask about the outfit when Kurt rushes through the door, hands filled with layers and layers of shimmering fabric.

He mumbling to himself, but presses a kiss to Mercedes' temple when she embraces him. I look away, uncomfortable. The nagging thought in the back of my mind that Kurt might take interest in me is gone, like a spark in winter. Of _course_ he's with Mercedes. Stylists usually are. Work as a pair, live as a pair…

Love as a pair.

I try to distract myself but Kurt is shooing everyone from the room. He congratulates my prep team on taking care of me, but there's something in his tone of voice that tells me he knows they didn't do much. He doesn't let it show, though, and the team glow under the praise.

When they exit the door, he whirls around towards me beaming, and I can't help but smile back. There's something about Kurt that's so _infectious_.

He drops the pile of fabric in his arms into a chair, and it flutters from his fingers. It doesn't resemble anything right now, but I really can't wait to see what it is.

"Blaine," he starts, and I jump slightly. He raises an eyebrow before carrying on. "Could you take your robe off, please?" he asks, and I just _know_ I'm blushing.

"Okay," I say slowly, and I drop the robe. I can feel my skin burning. He circles me, eyes fixed firmly on my upper-half. It strikes me that we're both so, so young, and he's so, _so_ attractive. I will myself to behave, or that my robe could magically appear back around me.

I feel feather-light fingers ghost across my shoulder blades, and I suppress a gasp. The touch is cold, but I feel so warm where he touched me. The fingers snatch themselves back, but the feeling is still there.

Kurt's fingers thread through my loose curls, winding around the ringlets, tugging lightly.

_It's all very inappropriate_, I think. _But if he stops I might jump out that window._

But eventually he does stop. I can't see him, but I can hear the click-clack of his boots on the polished floor. I hear a rustle of fabric, and a midnight blue under-shirt is dropped over my head. It's thin and light, and my hand rises to touch it. Kurt smacks my hand away and hands me a pair of underpants. He gives me a look that says: '_I'm not doing that for you_' and I pull them up my legs.

Then he hands me layers after layer of loose shirts made of shimmering fabrics. The silvers and the deep greens and the blues give the impression of soft waves upon the shore. It reminds me of my home, of my family, and I feel sick.

Kurt must have sensed it, and his cool hands are on my shoulders. He's bent slightly, he's not _that_ much taller than I am. His eyes swirl, and I can see the universes behind them. I get lost in the colours, and I'm calm again. I think he's leaning in, but he just smiles a toothy smile that makes his nose scrunch up, and jumps up like nothing's happened.

I blink, but my mind reminds me that it's ridiculous that Kurt would want to kiss me.

'_He's with Mercedes, remember?_' The voice reminds me, and I tell it to shut up.

"This is the last one!" Kurt says, and he pulls the last shirt around my shoulders to button it up at the front. It's so thin it's almost see-through, and you can see all the other layers underneath it. "It's meant to look like the sea," he informs me afterwards, as he's bent down looking for something.

And _no_. I am _not_ looking at his ass.

He's walking back towards me now, and in his hand is a pair of deep, charcoal trousers. He gestures for me to out them on, and they're as comfortable as all the others I had worn in the past two days.

I thank him for the clothes he sent from the train, and he blushes. "Oh, it was nothing," he says modestly. "I was just trying to figure out your seize from your reaping video. It turns out I was right!"

"Will I get to see the other tributes' reaping videos?" I ask, and he nods. "You'll see them at the ceremony," he says. "But some of them are so covered in make-up and costume that you'll hardly recognize them."

He helps me tuck in my shirts when he sees that I'm wrinkling the fabric. I look up to the ceiling, trying to ignore his hands. When the trousers are all fitted and my shirts are all tucked in perfectly, he helps me put on a tight grey vest. He buttons up the pearl buttons, clips on a few silver accessories and twists my cuff onto my wrist.

"Try not to trip on this, okay?" he says, and clips a cape to my vest. It flutters down to my feet, and weighs a ton. I reach around me to pick it up, and I see pearls and jewels and silver pieces in the layers of fabric. I run my hand down it, and there's no way that this could have been done by hand.

"That took me absolutely _ages_ to sew," Kurt says and I nearly drop the cape in surprise.

"_You_ did all of this?" I ask, and I'm embarrassed from asking too many questions.

"Well, Mercedes helped me. The stitching is the same on Tina's dress too. You have no idea how rushed we were. Two days, they gave us! _Two. Days._" Kurt says, and his hands are adjusting all of my clothes. He straightens the high collar of my over-shirt, flattens the collar on my vest, and straightens my trousers. He makes me step into a pair of shiny shoes, and gets started on my make-up.

He coats his hands in a cream and runs it through my unruly hair. It gives it a soft shine, and tames it immediately. _If only I had a bottle of this at home_, I think. _I would never have to gel it down again._

He instructs me to close my eyes and starts brushing paints and powder across my face and neck. When he's finished, my eyes are still closed. I can hear him move away from me to adjust the lighting.

"Open your eyes," he says softly, and I do. I blink a few times to get used to the lighting, but when I look into the mirror, I have to take a step back.

I stare at my reflection in wonder. It's extraordinary, really, how Kurt uses all this make-up on me, yet I still look like myself. He still takes great care in every little detail, though. The silvery-green eyeliner he applies to my eyes, the pearl paint he brushes onto my eyelashes, and even the soft patterns that glow subtly on my neck.

My eyes, _so_ much like my mother's, shine like jewels on my made up face, and they stand out against the greens and the blues. My skin shines with a healthy glow. _It's unusual_, I think. _That I can look so inhuman, so unreal, yet in every district, it's the Capitol that is._

Kurt is standing behind me, and I flush lightly. He walks around me, blocking my reflection, to stand in front of me. He takes my face in his hands, and his piercing eyes search mine.

"So beautiful," he whispers, and his sweet breath washes over my face. I close my eyes involuntarily, so lost in the sudden warmth of his hands on my face. In this moment, I dream that I weren't in the Games, so that I could be good enough for Kurt. But he has Mercedes. Mercedes has him, and will take care of him.

Mercedes also ruins the moment.

She peeks her head around the door, and Kurt jumps away from me. I open my eyes slowly, and I can't help but be terribly disappointed that his hands have left me.

"Tina is all ready. We've got five minutes till we have to go down," Mercedes informs Kurt, but she's looking at me strangely. I look down at my feet, but I can still feel her gaze on me. I wonder if she hates me for being so close to her partner, but it doesn't matter.

"I'm going to go check on Tina, all right? I'll be back in a second." Kurt says, and I'm _so_ close to begging him to stay.

Mercedes pats him on the back as he walks through the door. She raises her eyebrows at me but says nothing. Instead, she picks up a paintbrush from a pot next to Kurt's make-up palette and gently brushes green up my hands. She paints delicate vines that look like the seaweed my mother used to collect to wave into baskets. The intricate leaf pattern, the swirl in the water.

I look like I just stepped out of the ocean, even more covered in myths and legends than before.

I thank her, entranced by the details she and Kurt have put into our outfits. She pats my arm lightly and says that it was all Kurt. She's just there for support.

"Oh, I hardly believe that," I say, but she just laughs. "Honey," she starts, "If you knew Kurt like I do, you'd know that he doesn't like being told what to do."

"So you know him well, then?" I can't help but ask.

"He's my best friend. Ever since him and his dad got invited to the Capitol. He's an unusual thing, but the most wonderful, too." She says.

"Do you have a sweetheart, Mercedes?" I ask, and I clap my hand to my mouth.

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry," I say. "I don't mean to pry."

She simply laughs and shakes her head. "There might be this one boy, though, Kurt's been telling me to go for it," she says cheekily and winks. "If I'm lucky."

I'm just about to tell her that 'of _course_ she'll have him, with or without luck', but my mind keeps on telling me that '_she's _not _with Kurt!_'

Seconds later, Kurt appears at the door with a black box in his hands and Tina at his heals. "Come on!" he says, and I almost trip over my cape on the way to the door.

When I'm out in the corridor, I finally have a chance to look at Tina. I gasp loudly, but I have no time to be embarrassed. She looks absolutely stunning, her hair in soft waves, her dress hugging her and bringing out the green in her eyes. Her dress is made of the same materials as my cape, and is held together at the waist by a silver seashell belt. If I look hard enough, there must be millions of little details that Kurt and Mercedes have woven into it. She too has make-up on, and it just makes her look even more beautiful.

"You look amazing," I say to her, and she smiles widely. "_Thank you_," she says back. "You look stunning too. Kurt and Mercedes did _such_ a good job."

Kurt and Mercedes brush off the praise and lead us to the elevator. Emma is already standing there, clutching a pocket watch in one hand. Mike's there too, looking handsome in another suit.

"You're almost late!" Emma says, distressed, but Kurt reminds her that "No, Emma. We're not late," and we're whizzing down the glass elevator. I stare out of it in wonder, seeing levels and levels disappear within seconds.

An annoyed Emma, who's mumbling about contained spaces and germs, pushes me out of the elevator. Our little party has to walk down several more corridors before entering the preparation area for the opening ceremony.

We have to go through security clearance before we're allowed into the large hall the holds our chariots. When we've finally gained access, I take every opportunity I have to check out our rivals.

I scope out the careers first. A golden chariot pulled by white horses is right by the gates, and on it is a gorgeous girl with golden skin and an almost see-through dress that makes Kurt shriek with outrage.

"That _bitch_!" he almost screeches, and a couple of mentors look over.

"What's the problem?" Mike asks, looking around.

"Sebastian Smythe is the _problem_. That bitch stole my designs for District one! If he takes credit I _swear_…" Kurt seethes.

"You'll swear what, Hummel? You'll _scratch my eyes out_?" a snarky voice says from behind us and Mike has to grab Kurt around the waist to stop him from pouncing.

"Piss _off_, Smythe." Mike says dangerously, and the boy shrugs. He looks around 25, with a silly haircut and a smug face.

"I see you got yourselves a looker this year. No offence, Tina _darling_, but I'm talking about _this_ one." He drawls, dismissing Tina with a flick of his hand and turns to me.

Is it bad that all I'm thinking is: _How did he know Tina's name?_

"If you want something _worth living for_, you know where to find me," he says to me and shoots Kurt another smug look. I'm rooted to the spot, unsure of what just happened. "Come on," Kurt says, steering me away from Sebastian.

"I _hate_ him," Kurt says, and Mercedes rubs his arm comfortingly.

"I know, honey." She says and turns to glare at Sebastian, who's still standing there.

"Who does he think he _is_?" Kurt's still ranting, and he's distracting himself with something in the box he's carrying. "First he steals my designs, even though he isn't even a _stylist_, then he tries to hit on my _tribute_ even though it's _illegal_." All the while, Mercedes is murmuring to him, telling him to calm down.

I resume my task of scoping out the competition. The District one girl is looking at me through dark, soulless eyes. Her costume is inlaid with thousands and thousands of precious jewels, and on her head is a gold crown, very much like a victor's crown. _Foreshadowing_, I think bitterly.

Her district partner is large and aggressive, but I can't quite make out his face. It's shrouded in make-up and gems and he's wrapped in golds and silvers. I can almost see Kurt's style in their outfits; layers of soft-looking fabric and tight pieces that hold the outfit together. I feel a surge of annoyance towards Sebastian Smythe, who probably will take all the credit for their costumes.

District six's chariot has a group of technicians surrounding it. They're strapping a tribute's legs to the chariot by metal rings. Both their tributes are wearing train-drivers' uniforms. It's fitting, really, since their District's in charge of transportation. But the stylists really could have put more effort into it.

The costumes don't get much better from there, really. District seven's tributes are dressed like trees, scarcely clothed in twigs and leaves. The boy has a Mohawk, but it looks like someone has stuck an animal pelt to his head. He's flexing his oiled-down arms, and I look away. The girl has short, choppy blonde hair and has a wreath of spray-painted leaves perched on her head. She's standing a fair distance away from the boy, and I can't say I blame her.

District two's mentor looks lost and sort of scared. I recognise him as Finn Hudson, who won when he was 14. That was the year where the Capitol had been most disappointed. The arena was a frozen wasteland, and Finn had been the last to survive. Finn waves at Kurt, who waves back. But Kurt is glaring at the stylist, who looks sheepish. Their tributes are wearing skin-tight jumpsuits that have chunks of rock placed tastefully onto them. I have a sneaking suspicion that's Kurt's design too.

District eights' tributes look like they've been dumped in a washing basket, with different types of fabric stitched together like a quilt. Kurt takes one look at them and scoffs. The girl has a bright smile plastered on, and is talking animatedly to her bored-looking partner. Seconds later, she's singing loudly for everyone to hear. "I could call security, you know," Kurt says jokingly to me, as he adjusts the reins on the horses.

Two tributes are dressed as farmers so I guess they're from District nine, who specialize in each District's grain rations. District ten's tributes are a disgruntled looking girl and a terrified looking boy. They're dressed as a horse and a cow, and the animals seem to be getting confused.

"Oh those poor darlings," breathes Mercedes, and Kurt giggles.

The tributes of District twelve are stark naked and covered in coal dust, and I look away as quick as I can. The boy looks so young, around twelve or thirteen, but the girl is beaming brightly in her birthday suit. Her ash blonde hair falls in tumbles down her back and her blue eyes are too bright. Haymitch Abernathy, their drunken mentor, sits in the chariot, bottle in hand. But he's not looking at his tributes, ahem, open display. He just looks sad and sort of depressed.

A horn sounds and we're instructed to step onto our chariots. Kurt helps me on, arranging my cape and the train of Tina's dress around our feet. I have a feeling that when the light hits it just right, it will sparkle like sea foam. Kurt places a heavy headdress onto my curls, and then places a similar one on Tina's. It's made of dark green glass, and is polished so it shimmers like pearls.

"Wave," Kurt says softly to us. "Smile. Act like your loving it. I know it's harsh and despicable, but you too look _magnificent_. You'll ace it, I promise." He squeezes Tina's hand softly and looks at me.

"You're too precious for this," he says softly. "I haven't known you long, but I can feel it. Like an aura around you." He drops a kiss onto my forehead. "Don't fall off."

Those are the last words I hear before the gates open and I hear the roaring crowd. So many people are watching this. My family, my friends, the Capitol residents that take us for granted. As our chariot rolls out, the screams get louder and louder. We are easily the most breathtaking. I remember to wave, but I can't force a smile.

I think back to a few seconds ago, how Kurt touched his lips briefly to my forehead. The skin tingles lightly, and I smile a genuine smile. I can see my face on the screens above me. The lights reflecting off mine and Tina's costumes make the crowd gasp in awe. They are throwing flowers at us. District one have fallen out of favour. We are the stars now. (And I try to ignore the glares District one send our way.)

But I can't think of that. I just can't. Kurt's stunningly beautiful eyes and how he smiles are the only things I can think of. I suppose it's a good thing that I'm not concentrating on the people watching. Kurt distracts me from President Snow's speech, which had always put me to sleep.

The second round around the crowds comes along as night falls. They are still as enthusiastic as ever. They blow kisses and scream our names. I play along and catch their kisses and put them in my pocket. Ladies faint and little boys look up in amazement. It's too surreal to describe.

When we enter the hall once again, Tina is pulled into a hug by Mike. "You looked amazing!" he laughs, and I wonder if they have fallen in love.

Kurt is laughing, and his nose is all scrunched up. It's so adorable, that I can't help but throw my arms around his neck.

"Thank you," I breathe into his neck. "Thank you so much. You and Mercedes are just so _talented_ and everyone _loved_ your designs!" He freezes slightly, I don't know if I said the wrong things.

I want to thank everything and everyone out there when he doesn't let go. He just pulls me in tighter. I feel so safe, so protected in his arms, that I forget everything; where I am, and who I am.

My mind can't even register the feeling, but my heart thinks that it is love.

* * *

><p>AN: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Things sort of pick up the pace from here onwards. And reviews mean quicker updates!

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	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Stars**

A/N: Sorry for the hiatus, guys! Writer's block came round after I wrote the last chapter and decided to whack into the next three weeks. Also (as I know some people can get _pretty_ touchy about this) the decisions of making the characters tributes where made aged before I even started writing the story, and it would be extremely confusing for me to re-write anything.

Onward!

* * *

><p>When we meet her at the elevators, Emma is bubbling with excitement. She says that she's been hearing only good things about us, and that we've practically won over sponsors already. I raise my eyebrows at her, and say: "But the ceremony ended not five minutes ago."<p>

She laughs in a way that makes me feel like a child. "Oh, Blaine. For everyone else, the games started _ages_ ago!"

Once again, those grim words are said much too enthusiastically.

My annoyance must be evident on my face because Kurt soundlessly takes my hand. The touch relaxes me, but only slightly. It's what Emma said. The games have already started for everyone else. Kurt and Mercedes with their designs, the game-makers with the designing of the arenas, even Mike and Emma who were probably involved in the betting and sponsoring process before me and Tina were even _reaped_.

Kurt leads Tina and I back to our rooms, and I silently wonder how he got so good with directions. He tells Tina that Mercedes will be with her shortly to help her with her costume, and that she looked stunning. He then opens the door to my room and gestures for me to go in.

Kurt's long fingers coax the vest off my shoulders and he gently places the headdress back in its box. Kurt tells me to close my eyes, and I do. A soft cloth rubs across my face, necks and shoulders. It leaves behind the soft scent of flowers. I open my eyes quickly, and the make-up has been wiped away completely and I look like I really do. A young, terrified boy. Kurt must sense this, because a runs a soothing hand through my hair as he tells me to raise my arms, and I oblige. Then all the shirts come off, the fabric gently caressing my arms and face as Kurt tugs them upwards. We're completely silent; the only thing heard is our breathing. It's strangely musical, the way Kurt breathes. Slightly uneven and exhaling with a soft sigh each time. My breathing is too loud, and the fact that Kurt's fingers are trailing softly across my skin isn't helping.

But I'm not complaining.

My undershirt is tugged up and over my head and I'm suddenly aware of how cold the room is and of how close and warm Kurt is. I take in a shuddering breath, and I want to slap myself for being so nervous over nothing.

"Relax," Kurt purrs into my ear, and I suppress a shiver.

"You're so tense," he says, rubbing the heels of his palms into my shoulders.

"Yes, well," I chuckle nervously. "I did spend my evening trying not to fall off a chariot while everyone watches."

My words cause his fingers to leave me immediately. "Did I say something wrong?" I ask quietly, hoping that I didn't offend him.

Kurt runs a hand through his immaculately styled hair, mussing it. "You must think me despicable," he whispers, and I shake my head.

"You've done nothing but make me feel welcome," I say in reply, because I don't know why Kurt's suddenly so distressed. He hasn't been threatening me or looking down on me as a district citizen, so I'm grateful.

"Why aren't you furious with me?" Kurt bursts out suddenly. "But why would I be?" I ask, and that seems to be the wrong thing to say.

"I've only known you for less than a day, and I've been prettying you up for slaughter!" he says and I'm stunned into silence. The reasonable part of my brain _knows_ it's true, but I don't see it like that. I _can't _see it like that.

"I don't want to get irrationally upset before the games," I say slowly, and I hope Kurt's listening. "Being angry at you for winning me sponsors isn't going to solve _anything_. It might make matters worse." Kurt looks up at me, eyebrows raised, but I press on.

"There's no turning back for me now. You, Mercedes, Emma, Mike, you're _all_ helping me and Tina _survive_. Without you guys," I rub the back of my neck sheepishly. "I'll be dead by the first day."

"No!" Kurt almost shouts and I jump. "You _can't_ die. I won't accept it."

"But I'm not as strong as the competition. Not as fast. Hell, I don't even _know_ them and I know they're going to kill me."

"Then I'll help you. Not in the shallow way I'm paid to, but _properly_." Kurt says, determination lacing his voice.

"But it's against the rules…" I start, but he holds up a hand.

"No," he says firmly. "It's not against the rules. I've checked. Anyone that's part of your team has the right to help you. Not just Mike, not just Emma. I _know_ what it's like, watching from the outside. It's shallow and _horrible_ but I _know_. I've lived in the capitol for 10 years, studying how they treat the tributes, what they look for in a sponsorship. Just let me _help_." Kurt's cerulean eyes are wide, pleading.

"Okay," I breathe, and he visibly relaxes. "But, can I get changed first? These trousers are kinda tight…"

Kurt's cheeks colour and he strides to the wardrobe to get me some more comfortable clothes. "I tend to design things that aren't very comfortable, sorry."

"Don't apologize," I say, and he smiles as he hands over the soft, thick trousers and jumper. "I'll just, um, turn away shall I?" he asks, and I nod slightly. I quickly get rid of the offending trousers and slip on the thick fleecy fabric as quickly as I can.

"All right," I say. "I'm decent."

"Good, good. I've got all the reaping tapes and the tape of the opening ceremony should arrive tomorrow, but we can watch the reruns on the television if you want." He says, opening a canvas bag I hadn't realised he had brought.

"I think the reaping videos will be most important now," I say and he nods in agreement.

"Their attitude as they're reaped is important." Kurt says seriously. "You have to make a statement. Of course, you'll know more about them when you start training and when you watch the interviews but," he pauses for breath, "There are always liars that try to trick you into alliances or don't show off their skills. And you shouldn't show them all you're capable of either. Save something for your private session, alright?" he asks, but I shake my head.

"I'm not good at much," I say but he scoffs.

"Like I believe that," he says.

"Really!" I say. "I'm not that good at anything, except maybe singing."

Kurt considers this for a moment and says: "Well it's definitely something. The Capitol residents love a well-rounded tribute. But what else? Did you work back at Four?"

"I helped my family fish," I say and he nods, scribbling in a notebook that he had just fished out of his bag.

"So, you're handy with a net?" he asks, pen poised above paper.

"Well, I help my dad knot them," I start, and Kurt's already writing it down. "I help my mother collect plants and animals for her to make into medicines."

"Is your mother a nurse then?" Kurt asks. "No," I say. "She wanted to be, but her father forbade it. She helps collect pearls from the harbour when she has to."

Kurt nods like he understands. "So you're good at recognising plants and sea-animals and making knots. That's all very important if you want to catch food. But what about weapons? Have you tried using knives or swords?" he asks and I nod. "I've used knives to cut fish and rope, and I've tried using a bow and arrow when my brother was allowed to take a set home from training."

"Anything else?" he asks, but I shake my head, but I'm lying. I might be smaller than the other boys in my training class, but I'm strong enough to beat them all at boxing. I probably have to tell Kurt or Mike sooner or later, but I've never told anyone besides my brother.

And, of course, the boys that I had beaten in my class. But they don't count.

"And what about Tina?" Kurt asks after a while.

"She's amazing with a spear, best in our town! But her father doesn't let her train with one. He says it's not appropriate for a girl to train with a weapon like that." I say, shaking my head. If Tina's father had let her train, she'd be in such good shape for these games.

"Maybe she could teach you tomorrow? If you two _are_ to become allies."

"Yes, we agreed on it… Earlier today, I think." I say, and Kurt says that it's good to plan ahead.

"How 'bout we get started on those videos then? Figure out who's our main competition." Kurt suggests and I agree. Frankly, it _is_ better that I get a head start. I need all the help I can get.

Kurt slides off the settee to insert the tape into the player underneath the television.

"I've got the uncut version, so the districts aren't going to be in order." He says, fluffing up the pillow behind my back.

He presses a button on a remote he's holding and the screen flickers until a picture shows up. I recognise it as District one. There are large glass towers surrounding the square, and I can see little people running about inside them like ants.

The children in the square are all dressed similarly: the boys in white shirts and black trousers and the girls in white blouses and grey skirts. The camera pans around the square, but only quickly scans across the terrified looks on some of the children's faces. It focuses only on the attractive and the brave.

A terrifying Sue Sylvester sits on the edge of the raised platform. She's dressed in red and white, her victor's crown perched in her hair and she's scanning the crowd with her trademark smirk.

My attention is diverted when a stick-thin woman wobbles across the stage in massive heals and a tight gold dress. Her gold skin shines under the midday sun, and her tall black wig sits wonkily on her head.

She makes the same speech as Emma did, and makes her way over to the reaping bowls. She calls out the female tribute's name ("_Santana Lopez!_") she moves immediately to the boy's bowl without even waiting for Santana Lopez to make her way to the platform.

The boy's face doesn't look much older than fifteen, but he's probably taller and heavier than I am. The girl, Santana, is tall and slim and beautiful, but her eyes are dark, cold and ruthless.

"Ugh," I shudder. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere _near_ those two in the arena."

"Me neither," Kurt says. "But just because they act and look tough, it doesn't mean that they are. There have been plenty of District one tributes that haven't survived the harshness of the arena. Too pampered, you see? Besides, they're just there to look pretty."

I nod in understanding. In previous games, the only reason the careers have survived is because they collect all the food beforehand. (But I still have to remind myself that _I _am a career now, but learning from mistakes is important.)

The next clip is from the coal mining district, twelve. The children and parents are solemn and silent. And as usual, the camera stays locked on their drunken mentor, Haymitch, as he trips on falls onto the stage.

A woman with a pink wig and sunny yellow suit is the new escort. But even Effie Trinket's dress sense isn't enough to lighten the mood. The tributes chosen are a girl with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and a young boy with dark hair and grey eyes.

"They're from different parts of town," Kurt explains to me. "The boy is from the less well-off part of the district, poor thing's skin and bones!" That much is obvious, his eyes gaunt and frightened, his skin stretched thin across his bones. The girl looks a little more well-fed than the boy, but her cheekbones are still sharp, her knees knobbly.

"Their stylist did _nothing_ for them this year. Coal dust! What was he trying to do, make them the laughing stock of Panem?" Kurt fumes and I have to agree. That poor little boy, being humiliated like that…

Districts two and seven are up next, and the reality is finally settling in. The first male tribute from two is quickly replaced by a larger, fiercer boy. "Ugh", Kurt shudders. "Finn says that he's been training since he could walk. A bully, too."

"How do you know Finn?" I ask, a feeling akin to jealousy bubbling low in my stomach.

"Oh, he's my step-brother. He only visits Two when he has to, though. His mother married my father a year before he was reaped, right when he was set to move to the capitol. _God_, those where some of the worst weeks of my life."

I wonder what the worst weeks of his life actually were, but it's best not to pry. As selfish as it is, I _do_ need Kurt's help.

The boy, who's name is David Karofsky, is joined by an equally fierce looking girl. She's twice my size and her face is etched in a permanent scowl.

Kurt quickly fast-forwards the tape through the same old speech that every consort has to make until the next district appears and it's District Eleven.

I don't view any of the tributes from most of the Districts as competition, but Kurt is quick to remind me that looks aren't everything. I realise with a start that he might mean me and I don't know if I should be offended or not.

"Oh, I don't mean you," Kurt says with a wave of his hand.

"Can you read my mind?" I ask with a laugh, and I'm pleasantly aware of how close we're sitting.

"Are you getting tired?" he asks me, and I the thought of sleep makes me yawn and he laughs softly.

"We'll continue tomorrow with Tina, okay? You look like you need a good rest." He says affectionately, and I'm brought back to when I was younger and safe and the prospect of being reaped not even fresh in my mind.

"Yeah," I yawn again, and Kurt gets off the settee to stop the tape. I rise sluggishly to my feet and collapse against the soft pillows. "I could sleep forever," I mumble into the duvet, and I hear Kurt sigh quietly behind me.

"I wish you could too," he whispers as he tucks the blankets around me, and I can barely catch his words.

"Stay," I hear myself saying. "Stay with me."

I can feel his hands hesitate against my back, and I know I've said the wrong thing. But I can't bring myself to care.

"S-sure," he stutters. "Of course."

"You won't get in trouble?" I ask, afraid. "No," he replies. "My business is my own. Not the Capitol's."

"They won't like that," I mumble and he laughs again. I like Kurt's laugh. It fills me up with warmth and friendship and love…

"No, they won't." he says as he adjusts the lights and pushes back the covers. I shift so I can look at him properly. His eyes are bright and I can see supernovas bursting behind the clear blues and greens.

He clears his throat slightly, but my hand reaches out instantly to cup his face softly. I must be sleep-addled, because I can almost feel him lean in to the touch.

I remember what Kurt said about Sebastian earlier; about how he wasn't allowed to "hit on me". Not that I thought Kurt was flirting, but I didn't want Kurt to get in trouble because of me. His talent and the slivers of kindness he's shown are more than what I could ask for when I came here.

"Is it true?" I breathe, "That it's illegal to have a relationship with a tribute?"

I feel his sweet breath fanning across my face. "Does it matter?" he asks, but I can hear the tremor in his voice.

"You didn't answer my question," I say back, and his eyes shimmer under the soft light.

"I don't really have to," he mutters as he leans in as our eyes flutter shut. And behind my eyelids, all I can see are stars.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading this chapter! And sorry (again!) for the hiatus and the shortness! And what I said about stuff picking up, that's true for the next chapter. This seamed like a natural end for this chapter.<p>

Don't forget to review, especially if you "favourite" the story! (Goodness, I sound pretentious!)

Tumblr: xoxogossiphummel[.]tumblr[.]com


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**The Trainee**

A/N: Once again, I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter, especially after that 50-year hiatus that I took! And thank you to Heidi for being my ever-fabulous beta!

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><p>I don't think I can process what is happening. It's almost an out-of-body experience, but it feels so <em>real<em>; soft and bursting with lights and colour and _affection_. The column of Kurt's neck is impossibly smooth under my hands, his lips impossibly soft. His hands are hesitant on my waist, tangled in my hair.

When Kurt eventually pulls away I whine embarrassingly and he laughs, breathless and grinning.

"It's rude to laugh when we've just been doing … that." I say, unable to tear my eyes away from his kiss-bruised lips.

"No, I'm not laughing at you. It's just–" he breaks off, grinning brilliantly. "I'm breaking all the rules but I don't even _care_. You're here and alive and–"

_Alive._

The expression painted on my face must be awful, because he stops abruptly. "What's wrong?" he asks. "Blaine, please answer me. What's wrong? What did I say? Oh God I didn't say anything to offend you did I?" his hands snatch away from where they were resting on my waist.

"No!" I almost shout as I grapple for his lost hands. "It's not that! It's just," I take a deep breath; "I won't be alive for much longer, will I?" I laugh bitterly. "You deserve someone better."

Kurt's hands leave mine immediately. I find his eyes in the dark and they're suddenly wet with unshed tears. "You don't know what I deserve, Blaine," he chokes out. "I've been told 'no' so many times, and I don't need to be told that by _you_."

I can't help but flinch at his tone. "So forgive me for wanting to show you that you can't die, because you have a family waiting for you and you might even have _me_," he bursts. "I know I'm not much but I'm _something_ - and sure, maybe I shouldn't have kissed you. Maybe that's what you're so freaked out about. But you're the first person I've ever met since mom–" he swallows and the tears are flowing freely now. "You're the first person I've ever felt _something_ for. So don't you go reminding me that you have to go into a god-awful arena for no reason and I can't stop it!"

I freeze instantaneously as his words settle uncomfortably in the silence between us. I don't know what to say, or even think. I want to do something; reach out and hold him, comfort him, _anything_. But I remain still.

"I might as well leave then," Kurt says after a moment, wiping his tears with his sleeve. "Give you time to think. I'm obviously just being an unnecessary distraction."

"N-no–" I stammer out but he interrupts me.

"Don't say anything," he says thickly, gathering his things in his arms. "If you do, I'll _break_." And he strides to the door and snaps it shut behind him.

And the worst thing?

I couldn't even stop him.

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><p>I wake up with a dull, aching pain in my chest. I couldn't sleep last night, my slumber burdened with nightmares. It's one I haven't had since grandfather died; me, drowning in clear, cold water where I can see everyone I know and love, alive and well and not noticing me drowning and for some reason, Kurt was in my dream, hands reaching and eyes gleaming but never quite reaching me. I've pushed him away for no reason. He was <em>helping<em> me for God's sake and I pushed him away!

I run a rough hand through my dishevelled hair and slip out of bed for a shower. The hot water unravels the knots in my back, but nothing is going to help my red rimmed eyes and swollen face and I sigh in defeat.

When I come out of the shower, Mercedes is waiting for me with stony eyes.

"Good morning, Mercedes," I say with as much joy as I can muster.

She gives me a nod in return. "Here are your clothes for training today, Blaine. I'll see you in the dining hall."

"Thank you," I say as she hands them to me. I want to, but I don't dare ask about Kurt. The wrath of Mercedes Jones is something that I'd rather not deal with in the morning

However, she brings the subject up herself.

"Do you know what's up with Kurt?" she asks. "First he was late back to quarters, and he looked like he was crying. I'm so worried about him; poor thing works himself too hard," she says, voice full of concern for Kurt. But she's eyeing me like she knows I'm the reason Kurt's acting off.

I don't reply and she sighs. "Just listen here, okay? Kurt's been beaten down by so many people. I understand that you think you're not going to survive or some crap, but if he opens up to you? You don't throw away his trust like last week's dinner."

"I didn't mean to say anything, Mercedes. Believe me," I say and she's still looking at me with that suspicious glint in her eyes.

"Just make it right with him, okay? For some reason, he really wants you to win." She says and a wave of guilt washes over me, and she gives me one last nod as she leaves me to my thoughts.

I distract myself my changing into my training clothes. It's a short-sleeved shirt and calf-length trousers made of a thin, stretchy material and are dark blue with red piping. The number four is stitched onto the sleeve. There is also a pair of tight socks and long boots set next to my bed.

I slip out of my sleeping clothes and change into the shirt and trousers. There's a knock on my door as I zip up my shirt.

"Yes?" I yell in answer "Breakfast in ten minutes," says Emma's voice from the other side and I can hear her walking over to Tina's door to tell her the same.

I pull the socks on over my trousers and zip up the boots. They're a bit scratchy and very thin, but I guess the training centre will be warm. I stretch my arms out and I catch my reflection in the mirror.

My hair looks _awful_.

I rush to the bathroom to find the pot of gel from yesterday. I think back to all the teasing comment Cooper shot at me because of my hair, and my heart aches at the memory. But there's no Cooper here to tell me that my hear looks plastered on.

Not anymore.

When I get to the breakfast room, Kurt still isn't there. Mike is though, and he greets me with a nod and smile.

"Hey," he says, shovelling eggs into his mouth. "Kurt told me that he showed you some of the reaping videos. I watched them too, and we've only got a couple of people to worry about. The sponsors love you and Tina already, so there's a bonus."

I reach for a roll and I can't help but ask where Kurt is.

"He said he wasn't feeling well this morning, so you'll only see him later. Why?" Mike looks at me with raised eyebrows. "Has he been distracting you?"

"Why would he be distracting me?" I ask, biting into my roll. Mike eyes me warily, but says nothing else.

"So it's the first day of training today. Got anything you're good at, or think you have the potential to be good at?" Mike asks, eyes turning back to his breakfast.

"I can throw knives, and I think I could use a bow and arrow. I've got a steady hand." I say quietly. Mike nods like he's impressed and I suppress the urge to retract my previous statement. I hate it when people think I'm better than I actually am.

"Good," Mike says, and I push aside my inner turmoil. "When you practise, don't let the careers faze you. Don't look at them when you're training, don't acknowledge them unless they talk to you: face-to-face. If they laugh, ignore them. If they stare, ignore them. You get in there, and you _learn how to survive_. You hear me? Because you could _win_ this. If not for your family, then for Kurt."

Tina walks in, and Mike leans back in his chair and his relaxed smile takes over. I'm still slightly shaken by the edge in his voice. The way he said it: _Then for Kurt_… It's making my head spin too fast.

He spat it like poison, and it was directed at me.

I don't think I can stomach this roll anymore.

"I'm sorry," I say as I set the half-finished roll back down and stand up. Tina looks at me curiously, but doesn't say anything. "I don't think I can eat anything right now."

"Do you think you'll be alright by the next hour?" Mike asks. "That's when training starts and we _really_ don't want you to miss a single day. You know how important they are, Blaine."

I nod at him and his expression softens.

"Take a rest on a sofa somewhere, okay? Just don't… be sick or something." He says and I smile slightly.

"Yeah. Because that would be just _disastrous_. Especially if Emma found me." I try and joke, but my tone betrays me.

"Are you sure you don't want something to drink?" Tina asks, eyes full of concern. But I shake my head. "Nah, I'll be alright. Just let me have a nap or something." I say, and at the mention of a nap, I yawn widely.

"A nap?" Mike asks, raising an eyebrow. "You've only just woken up! Surely you can stay awake for a little while?"

The door creaks open, just as I'm about to answer, and Kurt steps into the room. "Sorry for being late," he says coolly, and offers a smile to Mike and Tina. He looks well-rested and put together, but I can see the red around his eyes when he glances my way. "I over-slept."

"Funny thing, because Blaine over here didn't seem to get enough sleep last night," Mike says. "Any idea why?"

Kurt looks sharply to me, eyebrow cocked in question. But he doesn't say anything.

"I guess I'm just nervous," I sigh. "I don't know what I'm going to do when I have to perform for the game-makers. Let alone what happens afterwards."

"Perform?" Mike says, and his tone makes me regret my choice of words immediately. "This isn't a performance, Blaine. Standing up there and… _singing_ to them isn't going to get you a high score!"

I swallow the lump in my throat as Tina turns to glare at Mike. But, funnily enough, it's Kurt that intervenes.

"Let's just cross that bridge when we get to it, hmm?" he says with a firm look at Mike. "There's no need to make our tributes uncomfortable when the most important stages of their training are soon to begin. They need all the help they can get, and _that's_ what we're here for. We're _definitely_ not here to take out our frustrations on them. Okay?" Kurt says sharply, and Mike has suddenly become very interested in his boots.

But I couldn't help but catch the slight tremor in Kurt's voice when he was speaking.

"Fine," Mike finally says and he runs his hands through his hair. "I'm just really stressed right now, and I'm sorry for snapping. I know it's selfish of me to be stressed when it's you two that I should be focusing on but," he breaks off into a sigh.

"Just _try_, okay? Try your goddamn hardest. Remember what I said to you ten minutes ago?" He asks, with the fierce determination of someone who _wants to help_. "You'd better remember that when you're in there. You're stronger than them. _Both of you_. You might not think it, but you are. Their pride will get in there way and when it does, you snatch victory out of their fingers and you_ win._"

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><p>And thus concludes the most fucking confusing pep talk <em>ever.<em> God, this was so short and let's hope that writers block doesn't decide to hit me like a fucking freight train this week. Buuuuuut, the next chapter (which is already half-written) should be up soon!

And, if you haven't seen them already, the lovely tumblr user gleeddicted has made some character posters here: gleeddicted[.]tumblr[.]com/post/20482725426/district-4-the-escort-emma-pillsbury-the

So just shower her with love okay shhh

As usual, my tumblr is here: xoxogossiphummel[.]tumblr[.]com

Thank you for the wonderful feedback and don't forget to review!


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